


dirt, blood, polish

by TheGodWith5Yen



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, Recovery, Tarsus IV, Time Skips, jim is lowkey mexican bc i said so, lyrics written by someone who doesnt know how to write a song, tarsus is only in the first section
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-31 07:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21121928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGodWith5Yen/pseuds/TheGodWith5Yen
Summary: There was dirt underneath his fingernails.Every night, as he slept on the hard ground that had quickly become bed as a four year old and a six year old wrapped themselves close to him with the hoodie he had on from that day thrown across them like a blanket, he found himself awake, paralyzed in fear, in the selfish want to disappear and be done with all on this hellscape of a colony. Jim brought his hands up, close to his face. His hands were so dirty.He hated it, he hated it so much.(Or- certain moments in Jim Kirk's life, each one where he finds something underneath his fingernails: dirt, chocolate, blood, grass, skin, blood, lint, hair, dirt, and polish.)





	dirt, blood, polish

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically my second Star Trek fic, but my first with writing Jim. I was really excited because I love Jim so much and have wanted to write something for him for so long. So thanks [Wingittofreedom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingittofreedom/pseuds/Wingittofreedom) who beta'd for me and also encouraged me to finally write for Jim and Spock <3
> 
> [Here's a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1P23e1orwTdacto8zv4Peb) that I made for a character in this fic and listened to while finishing this story up! 
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of starvation, binge eating, mentions of underage sex, the section 'skin' is a scene with Jim feeling uncomfortable in a sexual situation
> 
> (The end notes will have the list of Jim's age in each section if you're wondering, I tried my best to mention his age while also moving forward with the point of the story. Hope you guys enjoy this!)

**dirt.**

There was dirt underneath his fingernails. 

Every night, as he slept on the hard ground that had quickly become _ bed _ as a four year old and a six year old wrapped themselves close to him with the hoodie he had on from _ that day _ thrown across them like a blanket, he found himself awake, paralyzed in fear, in the selfish want to _ disappear _ and be done with all on this hellscape of a colony. Jim brought his hands up, close to his face. His hands were so _ dirty_.

He hated it, he hated it so much.

Jim had never been a fussy kid, never disliked playing in the mud and getting dirt all over himself. But that had been back _ before _. 

Back then, he could run over to the edge of the house, untangle the hose, and wash off before getting back inside. Back then, he was a kid. 

He _ was _ a kid though, still. It was glaringly obvious now. He was a kid and he needed his mama and he needed to _ not fucking be here _ . But he was here, in this situation where he couldn’t be a kid because he was sleeping in a cave with eight other _ children _, seven of whom were younger than him and one who was a year older, but looked to him for guidance all the same like all the others, especially since he was hurt. 

Jim just wanted to wash his hands. 

God—just to sit under a stream of hot water and let it turn his skin pink and pruny as he sat there… letting it soak into himself as he slowly, slowly cleaned himself everywhere, washing himself of all this dirt. He’d do _ anything _ for a fucking shower right now. For a bar of soap and bucket even, like what Frank used to give him, Jim didn’t care anymore. Dignity be damned when it came to the faraway concept of being clean. Jim would use a bucket and soap if it was given to him right now.

Little Kevin shifted closer to him in his sleep. Jim lowered his arm to wrap around his little, wasting body. Jim didn’t know how Kevin could sleep, it took Jim hours until he could actually close his eyes, and before he knew it he was awake again. He should add that to his list: shower, eat, sleep. Basic shit that everyone did. Also—shit. Yeah, never had he imagined missing the days of hovering over a toilet and letting one drop, yet.

Somewhere between one thought and another, Jim found himself waking up, meeting Kevin’s round eyes. The little boy gave Jim a smile, spreading across his skeletal features and—Jim wanted to cry. He smiled back. 

“Morn’g,” Kevin whispered between them.

Jim pressed his nose against Kevin’s forehead. “Morning.” 

It was impossible for Jim to say _ good morning _anymore. It was also hard to ask if one of them had a good dream—after a retelling a particular nightmare one of the younger kids had, Jim, Thomas, Catalina, and Val’Rik agreed that they would never bring up dreams again. 

Sometimes the youngins had silly dreams they were eager to share—Alazne dreamt that she was on a moon made of cheese and she had danced with the cows that had made the moon of cheese, Zahir dreamt of puppies growing out of flowers—but otherwise they didn’t talk about their dreams. If they even were asleep to have any. 

They set into their routine. Eat their meager supply of rations (it was looking dangerously low these past few days), then they’d discuss what was next for them. Next, listen to Catalina sing songs to the kids. After she got tired of singing, they would tell stories that took their minds away from this upsetting life of theirs. 

The stories varied—they retold books or films, went off the top of their heads, talked about their pasts, or something their family had told them. Most of the time, it just made Jim fucking sad. He missed his mama. He missed Sam, wherever he was. He missed the orange cat that slinked around the backyard in the Kirk house, back in Riverside, with her crooked tail and one eye. 

** **

A hand, clean, nails immaculate and clipped properly. 

There was dirt underneath his fingernails. His hand seemed too clumsy, too large, for his failing body. He breathed in. 

“Captain,” Jim said in the strongest voice he could muster, the one that Thomas said was his ‘order’ voice, the voice that could command a ship. It was dumb. Stupid. Jim hated that idea—commanding a ship, making people follow orders, being his _ father’s son _. But, it helped keep the kids calm, and himself too, when all he wanted to do was slump forward and cry against the gold shirt of the woman in front of him. But—no. She had extended her hand, and Jim still had work to do.

His hand clasped hers. 

“There’s a cave, my kids are back there. Eight of them, one hurt from a phaser, hurt bad.” 

The words rushed out of him before he even let go of her strong hand. A part of him wanted to lean forward and rest himself against her. He didn’t. He had to stay strong. Had to be the leader, the protector, had to stay strong, strong, strong, even when he wanted to curl up and cry tears that no longer could be shed and dig his jagged dirt-filled fingernails into his cheeks. No. He stayed strong. Jim gave the Starfleet officers directions towards the cave, but the Captain had insisted he stay with her. A part of him was relieved he didn’t have to walk all the way back there. It’d taken him all night—too long—to get into town, and he was exhausted.

The Captain sat down on the ground. She smiled up at Jim and patted the dirt next to her in an invitation. 

“My name is Captain Philippa Georgiou of the USS Shenzhou. I apologize that it has taken Starfleet so long to learn of the atrocities Kodos has carried out. So many innocent souls, taken for no other reason but greed and power.” 

Jim stared at his hands as she spoke, slow and clear. He breathed in. “I should be dead,” was all he could think of saying. He gave a dry laugh that hurt his throat and made him cough into his shoulder. 

Captain Georgiou handed him a water bottle that he gratefully took in his clumsy hands. It was cold and refreshing. Jim could feel as the water trailed down his esophagus and into his stomach. He wanted to drink all of it, but ripped his mouth away after a few mouthfuls, afraid of upsetting his stomach. Afraid of wasting it all in one go. His hands fiddled with the cap.

“Is he really dead?” He asked. It was hard to imagine—whenever Jim thought of the Governor, he seemed so opposing, standing like a giant up above the crowd, his voice an echo a few seconds behind his lips, his eyes bright and wide even from the back of the crowd of sheep being led to slaughter. He was a devil among men. How could a devil die? It couldn’t be possible.

Yet—he had watched as the Governor’s mansion had burnt, with people shouting that he was inside, that that had to do it to him, had to finish him off, finish this off and— 

“My men have found teeth in the ruins of his so-called castle.” Captain Georgiou ripped Jim away from the memory, just a mere hours ago—or was it minutes?—her voice somber and heavy. “_ His _ teeth. That man will no longer torment you Mister—” She stopped, giving him an expectant look, a shine in her kind eyes. His name. The Captain wanted to know his name. 

Jim wasn’t trusting, never really had been, but he trusted this woman, with her kind eyes and clean hands. Still, he shifted slightly away from her as he gave away his name. There was a strong possibility she would recognize it—Starfleet personnel more often than not connected his name to the famous five-minute Captain George Kirk, more often than civilians. Everyone in Riverside knew, and pitied him, but Starfleet was different. They _ understood _. “Kirk. James Tiberius Kirk.” 

“Mister Kirk.” She squeezed his hand, paying no mind to the dirt that enveloped them. Jim wanted to cry. Her hands were so _ clean _.

** **

**chocolate.**

The tile was cold against his bare feet. 

He was always so fucking cold, even though it had been a good few months since he’d come back home. Jim shouldn’t be out of bed. Or, at the least, if he was out of bed, he should be wearing some socks. But Jim was nowhere close to rational at the moment. 

He was hungry.

It—it—

It was the kind of hunger that clawed at his stomach and he couldn’t lie still and he _ had _ to eat, eat _ something _ or he was pretty positive he was going to fucking die and no no no he was not exaggerating he would _ die _ if he didn’t _ get the hell up out of bed and eat _

Jim’s feet were cold. 

He brought his hands up over his face and blew hot breath out onto his cold fingers. He reached out and opened the fridge. It was full of food— Guerrero corn tortillas which should look unappetizing seeing as it was a large stack of damp tortillas that needed to be heated up over the comal to be anything close to edible but holy shit did they make the clawing at his stomach worsen when he laid eyes on them, grapes, a box of takeout food that’d been stuffed near the back that had ‘SAM’ written across the box, a dozen bottles of soda pop, eggs, uncooked meat that made Jim’s mouth fill with saliva, a container of bowtie pasta his mother had made, a container full of fried beans, so much fucking food. Jim blinked. 

One moment he was there, staring at the food. 

Another moment, he was on the floor, an empty packet of salami next to him, his fingers slick with the grease of the meat, chocolate clutched in between his disgusting gremlin hands, absently gnawing on the slow melting chocolate. Jim breathed in. 

_ What the fuck did had he done _? 

There was chocolate underneath his fingernails, mixing in with the grease on his hands. Jim clutched the chocolate close to his chest as a sob ripped through his chest. His body scrunched forward, forward, forward until his nose was touching the old tile flooring. _ Fuck _ . He was disgusting. Why couldn’t he just be _ normal _ again?

** **

When his mother found him, a weeping, greasy, chocolate filled mess, she had simply given him a sad look that made Jim feel _ tiny _ as she picked him up easily in her arms, like he was four and not fourteen. Jim clung to her, whispering “sorry sorrysorrysorry I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t have I know I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” into her soft tangled hair.

** **

**blood.**

His favorite place to be—besides the corner of his school library he’d claimed for himself that had an outlet and was hidden behind the dozens of the near obsolete bookshelves no one ever ventured—was the gym. When he’d first begun showing up, he’d been a little unsure of himself, until he had discovered the punching bags. Jim’d been in plenty of fights before, but had never had any true training on how to properly protect himself. He wanted it. He had wanted to _ know _so bad it made his chest burn. 

Jim had been so tired of feeling so fucking— vulnerable. He hadn't been able to do shit against Frank. Tarsus was—that was—that was a whole other category of fucked up, but he was sure knowing _ something _besides understanding how to lash out and punch he had learned from his few boyhood fights in Riverside would have made him feel better about the situation. 

So, he’d signed up for boxing lessons. Which, slowly, had lead him to join his school's wrestling team. And he was _ good _ at it. It was _ fun _. It kept his mind away from—everything. 

It kept him out of trouble. Jim knew himself, knew about being self-destructive. It came too easy. Easy like the fall off a ledge. Binge eating. Drinking. Getting in fist fights behind buildings as lights flickered and moths danced around them with their own sick need to _ feel something _. Letting older girls—women, really, with two, four, six years on him—paw at him and kiss his neck, chest, down down down. 

It was unhealthy. He’d done that shit for a while, but boxing, it helped him pull away. It was hard. But, the exercise helped him stop thinking about that shit, stop acting dangerously, and gave him something to focus on instead.

“Yo, Kirk!” A voice boomed out from across the gym. Jim turned his head and caught sight of Matt, the man who’d trained Jim in boxing when he’d first begun showing interest. “The punching bag throwing punches back?” He moved his dark hand up towards his nose, a worried tug of his eyebrows and a frown on his face.

Jim unhooked his boxing gloves, let them fall to the floor, and raised a hand towards his nose. Shit. He had been so focused on his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the tingling wet sensation that came with a bloody nose. Shit. Jim hitched his head back, feeling as the blood changed direction and spilled down his throat. 

Gross. 

“Here.” Matt handed him a napkin, which Jim immediately plunged into the offending nostril. “Have you been hydrating?” Jim must have made a guilty face as he tried to remember the last time he had drank water today, because the man sighed and shook his head. “Jim. You know you have to take care of your body. Drink water. Eat.”

Jim nodded his head as he glanced down at his hands. He had gotten blood on them, seeped down into his nails where it shone pink, innocent. A part of him had the urge to lick at his fingers, which was disgusting so he only scowled at himself. “I know, I know. I was in my head, sorry.”

Matt clamped his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “C’mon kid, don’t look so beat up about it. Let’s get you some water and get back into the groove of it, yeah?” His smile was large and bright and made Jim feel a little better as he nodded his head and followed the man towards the gym’s office, which had the only fridge. Jim relished in the cold air that escaped from the fridge when it opened and pressed the cold glass bottle to his cheek before opening it for a drink. 

** **

**grass.**

The seven year old had no real memory of his time starving to near death. Nothing of those months stayed with the small boy, expect for some nightmares that concerned his foster parents, which they really should have expected considering everything. Jim smiled as he brought little Kevin into his arms, twirling around for a few turns. It made him dizzy and nauseous, but it was worth it since it made Kevin laugh loudly. His little fingers clutched at his shoulders. 

“Hi Jimmy!” Kevin laughed out belatedly as Jim set him back on his feet. His dark hair was messy, some of it sticking up, some plastered to his forehead. “I missed you!”

Jim grinned down at the little boy, who he had long ago begun thinking of as being his little brother. Still felt that way, even though it wasn’t anything official considering the fact that Jim’s mother was adamant that she shouldn’t adopt the young boy. Jim _ understood _ why she refused, but it still hurt nonetheless. Kevin was the only one of the eight children that had once been in Jim’s care who still lived planetside, the only one who had insisted so frequently and loudly that he _ had _to see Jim that his foster parents had relented after the first few months of having him and began setting up meeting dates, like this one at the park. 

Jim was going to adopt him one day. 

He smiled at Kevin as he sat down on the grass. “Hey Kev. I missed you too, you have _no_ _idea._”

They began catching up, Kevin talking animatedly of school and showed Jim his new stuffed animal that he wanted Jim to name and was all too excited to hear how Jim was doing, even if he didn’t quite understand what it meant that he was graduating early and that Jim was thinking about studying engineering, with a few specific engineering fields catching his interest as well as linguistics since he had always been fond of learning new languages, even if he was a little unsure which path to follow.

Kevin nodded along, as though he understood it all despite how his eyes looked confused by the large words Jim used, excited that Jim seemed to be one step closer to adopting him. “I can’t wait to live with you Jimmy!” 

His excitement made Jim want to cry. He loved this kid. He was unbearably sweet. Deserved the whole world. Just the good parts though.

“That’ll be the best day of the rest of my life Kev. I promise you that.” He smiled at Kevin as he reached into his backpack to pull out the Terry’s Chocolate Orange he had bought earlier in the morning. It was Kevin’s favorite, he loved both chocolate and oranges. “Want a chocolate orange slice?” Jim grinned at his little brother, whose dark eyes widened as they landed on the box in Jim’s hands, his head dramatically nodding up and down. “Alrighty, you gotta use a wipe before you eat it, okay? Cause I definitely saw when you dug your little fingers into the dirt.” 

“Awww! You catch everything!” Kevin complained with a pout as he obediently used a wipe on his mildly dirty hands. The little boy hopped in place as he watched Jim open up the box and break apart the chocolate orange. 

Jim stuck his tongue out. “I know all,” he said in a voice filled with warm laughter. Once satisfied that Kevin cleaned his hands properly with the hand wipe, he handed the young boy a slice of chocolate and nibbled on his own piece. 

Chocolate was hard for Jim sometimes. It reminded him of one of the first binge eating breakdowns he’d had, made an uncomfortable twist in the bottom of his stomach. It didn’t exactly help that all he wanted to do was give Kevin as much food as possible, like he was his grandmother who had been so eager to feed him, back before she passed when he was around Kevin’s age. 

He ate a few slices before giving Kevin the rest of the chocolate. As they spoke, Jim found himself absentmindedly pulling at the grass they sat on, cutting it up into pieces, ripping it in half along the natural lines of the grass. He listened intently to the list of dog breeds Kevin wanted- the pitbull on the very top of his list—as his hands ripped away at piece and piece of grass. It seemed entirely too soon that Kevin’s foster mom walked up to them with a smile and said that it was time for them to get going. 

“Bye kiddo. See you next month.” Jim brushed Kevin’s hair away from his eyes. Little Kevin gave him a tight hug, an excessive number of goodbyes, and pressed a stuffed animal into Jim’s hands before he left with his foster mother. “Bye! Be good!” Jim raised his arm, with the little stuffed animal that looked like a large wolf-bear in his hand, and waved goodbye. 

“Bye Jimmy!” Kevin yelled out before he was out of hearing distance. 

Jim missed him already. His chest hurt. Jim rubbed his left hand over his chest as he sighed and examined the toy closely. He wondered what the animal was, with its long white fangs and fluffy body, what planet was it from? Jim ran his fingers through the synthetic fur of the little stuffed animal. As he did so, he could see green underneath the white of his fingernails. Jim scowled to himself as he brought a hand up close to his face, he’d have to go home and wash his hands well. 

As he walked home, Jim picked at his nails, which didn’t really do much but get green gunk into another fingernail, but his mind was on little Kevin, on his trusting smile and the way Jim wanted nothing more than to care for him. He had always been the closest to Kevin, maybe since he had been the youngest, maybe because the Riley’s themselves had shoved their little toddler into Jim’s arms and he had heard when Mrs. Riley’s voice yelled out in anger at the shooting guards, at Kodos, at the world, until there was _ nothing _ but the rest of the chaos, her voice lost to death. 

Jim missed the other kids too though. Thomas’d sent him a comm message once in a blue moon and Catalina would leave him voice messages just to sing in her eerie voice, like a song from beyond the stars. He had no idea how the rest were faring though, and it ate him up inside to have this wide lack of knowledge about _ his kids_. 

Jim breathed in, picked at the underside of his nails, and walked on.

** **

**skin.**

Long black hair fell like a curtain around their faces. Her breath came out, hot and labored, against his cheek. Her lips were full and shining bright with sticky lipgloss, some of which had been rubbed off onto Jim’s cheek and some down on his inner right thigh. Her eyes were a shocking light blue, nearly white, but Jim was half sure she was only wearing colored contacts, seeing as this _ was _ a costume party he had been invited to, even if he hadn't worn much of a costume himself. 

“Don’t be so gentle,” she whispered gravelly as she lunged down, hungrily biting at his lips, kissing and taking and taking and taking as she licked inside of his mouth, her teeth clashing against his. “Show some fucking initiative.” A line of saliva linked their lips as she pulled back. 

Jim’s fingernails dug themselves into her back. He moaned. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” she said, laughing out as she bit down at his chest, her long acrylic nails scratching roughly at his thighs. Jim held on tighter. “Oh that stings, yeah, yeah like that country boy.” She mewed against him as she moved moved moved down, her hands taking and taking and grabbing and taking. “Oh, you Iowa boys are so repressed. Everyone I’ve met here can’t fuck a girl right. _ Harder _. You can slap a girl around in bed, honey, I’m sure you boys slap them around in the kitchen.” Her laugh grated at Jim’s nerves. His fingers twitched and tightened their grip before he raised his hands and tried to push her off of him. 

“Stop it. Stop. This isn’t fun anymore. Stop,” he insisted. Jim clutched at her wandering hands and _ held _ onto them as he begged her to stop, to stop taking, to fucking stop already. She was making him feel as though there were bugs crawling over his body, into his ears and between his eyes and burrowing in his arms. He didn’t like this anymore. Didn’t like how she was _ treating him _ . Like meat, like a body to _ take _ from, like so many other people have treated him since he was a—since—

As Jim looked at her, the things that had made her so charming and beautiful now seemed dull and full of ill-intent. Gleaming silver eyes that looked deep into him, her lips bright red, her red mouth glittering blue and pink with fake teeth throughout her jawline. She seemed menacing in the darkness. Jim breathed in. 

He was able to get himself out from under her, a little unsure _ how _, but she sat up on the bed scowling at him. 

“Look, I’m sure you can find plenty of guys who are into that masochist shit, but that’s not me. I asked you to _ stop_.” Jim rummaged around to find his clothes, quickly shoving them on she watched them with her silver eyes, an angry frown pulling down her lips. She muttered something under her breath about Iowa boys and this boring state, but Jim ignored her as he dressed himself. “Learn some fucking decency, yeah?” He bit out before he slammed the door shut and practically ran down the stairs and out of the house, rushing past bodies of people drinking and laughing and dancing and smoking and fuck was this party a bad idea, why hadn't he stayed home and watched that film Kevin had wanted to see instead of being selfish and going out? 

_ Because Kevin said he should go, said all he did was homework and work and hang out with a nine year old _, his mind supplied as he found himself out of the large house, outside where the air did not feel stale with the breaths of others, where the late night wind whipped his growing, curly hair around as he breathed in, breathed in, tried to forget the panic that had overwhelmed him, tried to push past the disgust he felt from her rough insistence and his hands gripping to her waist so tightly he was sure she would bruise later. 

He tried not to think of the memories that threatened to rush to the forefront of his mind. He breathed in the cold air. 

He pulled his comm out with shaking hands and called for a ride. 

** **

The shower was hot against his skin. Jim relished in the warmth, in the ability to _ wash _ and _ scrape _ away at the sick impression left throughout him. When soap wasn’t enough anymore, Jim scrubbed at himself with his nails, scrubbing scrubbing scrubbing until his skin was pink, small pearls of blood opening up from several places on his body. Jim breathed in. He pressed his forehead against the warm tile of the shower and _ breathed_. God he felt so miserable. 

** **

**blood.**

See, the thing was, Jim was a fucking dumbass. He never really knew when to shut his mouth. It was a bad habit of his that he couldn’t quite figure out how to fix, but he was working on it. Did _ not _ work out while at the bar, making idle conversation with the beautiful Starfleet cadet, who he had heard speak _ Klingon _ under her breath from across the bar and wanted to _ know more _.

Which ended with him on his ass and with a fucking bloody nose—go figure. Just a regular Saturday night when you never know when to keep to yourself. Jim pressed his hand against his nose, only to come away with bright red blood spreading down his fingers, finding a home in his fingernails. Shit. Jim stuffed a tissue up his nose as he tried to best to clean up his hands, waiting for Captain Christopher Pike to start whatever lecture he had in mind. 

And, if Jim was honest, he _was_ curious to see what the Captain had to say. What this man might want to offer, if that glint in his eye was anything to go by. By the time Pike was done offering—challenging—Jim to join Starfleet, Jim was already thinking of learning new languages, of setting off among the stars he’d always found so interesting—yet pretended to give no care about—and _exploring_, of standing aboard a ship like the beauty the USS Shenzhou had been, even to his young eyes. 

With blood seeping into his fingernails and bruises on his face, Jim agreed. 

** **

**lint.**

The campus was near silent this early in the morning as Jim found himself, Kevin in tow, trekking towards the Starfleet landing strip. Jim wrapped his arm around his little brother’s shoulders, offering him some warmth as the sun was nothing but a distant ray, peeking out from the horizon. His fingers were cold. He pushed them into the warm lining of his corduroy jacket.

“I don’t even remember her.” Kevin had complained when Jim had woken him up. Despite that, he still followed along, more for emotional support than anything else. Because, like he had said, he didn’t remember the ship they’d boarded after months on the verge of death. But Kevin had always been a kind kid, and was willing to wake up early in the morning to watch as a ship landed down from it’s three year mission if it made Jim feel happy. 

There was a small crowd awaiting the USS Shenzhou’s arrival—Admirals and professors and Starfleet personnel and a few families. Jim found Pike standing to one side with Number One, the two laughing about something as they watched the sky. Jim steered himself and Kevin over towards the two. 

“Pike! One!” He grinned as he jostled Kevin slightly, the boy letting out a small “hello” and a shy smile as the two adults turned towards them. “How long have you two been waiting?” He leaned against the railing set up to keep the crowd away from the landing site, letting Kevin go with a smile. It was slightly wet from morning dew, but Jim paid it no mind as he watched his mentor give him _ that _ look—surprise and suspicion lingering in between his heavy eyebrows. 

The conversation was light. Kevin quietly introduced himself, but stuck close to Jim. It was funny—Kevin was always such an open kid around him that it shocked him to see how uncomfortable he was around other people. Instead of trying to goad him into talking, like Jim knew his foster parents had often tried when he was younger, Jim let him be. He would open up when he wanted. Kevin always said Jim talked enough for the both of them anyways. 

“Captain Georgiou is a wonderful woman. I’ve had the pleasure of working with her once,” Pike explained as he bundled his scarf closer to himself. “She’ll be staying at the academy for a few weeks before she leaves. We could all very much use her skill while she’s here. I’ll have to try and introduce you Jim.”

“Can’t wait,” Jim said with a fake grin as he raked his nails along the fuzz inside his jacket. He rocked on the balls of his feet watching the dim gray morning sky with curious eyes. It wasn’t long before a speck in the sky appeared—the USS Shenzhou. Jim gave an excited whoop as he pointed it out for Kevin, many of the families glancing up where he pointed to catch a glimpse of what looked like nothing but a gray dot among the gray sky. 

A few children who had been nearly sleeping standing up yelled out in excitement, suddenly and fully awake, jumping in place as they waited and watched the starship move closer and closer. Even Kevin looked excited as he watched the ship. 

He spoke to Jim in a loud voice, his sudden anticipation causing his lisp to sound much more pronounced. There was a spark in Kevin’s face that Jim recognized—the sudden desire to _ be _ on one of those beautiful ships, to _ explore _ and _ learn _. “Wow,” Kevin ended his speech with a loud sigh. 

By the time the Shenzhou had landed, the whole group was buzzing, the cold suddenly obviated in their warm bundle of elation. When the ship's officers began to climb out, some bounding over the railing separating them from the crowd and into their families arms, some simply walking along or stopping to speak to a professor. Captain Georgiou was the last off, with her first officer and the science officer—a tall, lanky alien that Jim did not know the species of—in step on both of her sides. Georgiou was grinning and her first officer looked rather pleased as she searched the crowd. Jim watched as the Captain spoke to a few admirals, laughter clear on her face and shining in her eyes. 

Jim’s nails raked over the inside of his jacket as he watched her move through the crowd. He could feel as a piece of lint stuck itself underneath his fingernail, but he paid it no mind as he watched the woman who had brought him to salvation walk closer and closer and closer until finally—

“James Tiberius Kirk.” Captain Georgiou’s smile reached her eyes, which looked straight into Jim’s own. She held out her hand, which was clean and immaculate. Jim grabbed it with his own, uncaring of the lint in his nails as he grinned at her. 

“Captain Phillipa Georgiou. I wasn’t sure you would remember me.” Jim smiled as he pulled his hand away and stuffed it in his pocket. 

Georgiou shook her head as she continued to give him that _ fond _ smile that made him feel warm. “I think it would be entirely impossible for any person to forget you Mister Kirk, no matter your age. Captain Pike, is he part of your crew?” 

She had a mischievous glint in her eye when Pike explained Jim was in his first year at the academy and was in the top of his class. “Well, I hope to see you on the Shenzhou after you graduate Mister Kirk,” she said with an eyebrow quirked up in challenge towards Pike. “Top of the class is quite impressive. Pike and I make an effort to have the best of the best, which means we’re always fighting. He’d been pushing to have my first officer on _ his _ ship, but I was able to snatch her away.”

“A real shame, though I did happen to get the younger brother, who is _quite _extraordinary,” Pike said with a smirk. 

Jim only laughed as he wrapped his arm around his mentor’s shoulders. “Well, sorry to disappoint you Captain Georgiou, but I’m going to be joining Pike here when he takes the reins on the Enterprise. She’s the pride of the ‘fleet, no way I’m missing my chance to be on her maiden voyage.” It had been his goal the second he had learned the news that Pike was going to be assigned to the USS Enterprise. Who _ didn’t _ want to be part of the crew on the best ship in Starfleet—the recommissioned beauty that made history when Jonathan Archer was a captain, _ to boldly go where no man has gone before _and all that. It was history in the making. 

And—wasn’t that a fun little thought? Jim Kirk, a twenty-three year old mess who currently had lint under his fingernails and had dark bags under his eyes from long nights of studying, was in the process of making history with every step he took.

** **

**hair.**

The smile she gave him was a little breathtaking—teeth a bright white, the gap between the two front teeth that he remembered vividly, her black hair cut short and curled up around her ears. She wrapped her arms around Jim’s waist and squeezed tight, so tight that Jim had to tap her shoulder with a laugh so he could breathe properly. Catalina simply huffed out a breathy laugh filled “sorry, sorry” as she pulled Val’Rik over by his wrist so he could get in a proper greeting after she had ambushed herself on Jim. 

Val’Rik gave Jim a smile that seemed just as bright as Catalina’s. His cheeks were flushed green and his fluffy, curly hair was long and disheveled and dyed white. It was a cute contrast with his thick, upturned black eyebrows. “Hey Jim,” Val’Rik had a surprisingly deep voice, it made Jim smile. 

“Hey Val,” Jim laughed, a little wet, as he wrapped the Vulcan into a hug. “Wow, I’m—this is crazy—what are you two doing in San Francisco?” Jim hadn't even known Val’Rik and Catalina were in contact. After Val’Rik had left the Shenzhou on a shuttle towards Vulcan, Jim hadn't heard a peep from the kid. To be honest, Jim had worried the least about Val’Rik since he was Vulcan—though that was stupid of him in retrospect. He seemed to be doing well. Jim brushed Val’s hair behind his pointed ear.

Catalina grinned as she leaned up on her tiptoes and clasped her hands in front of her. “I have a performance! It hasn’t sold many tickets, but we think people will be lured in since the music hall is so close to bars, you know. What about you? I thought you lived in Iowa?”

“I’m in Starfleet Academy. Wait—when’s the show, maybe I can make it, bring Kevin along too.” Jim pursed his lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his comm, searching through his daily planner. Most of his time was reserved for studying, but he could push it back this once. Unlike what the rumor mill said of him, Jim was not a party animal who sexed his way through class. Honestly, the rumors made up about him were ridiculous and most people knew it was utter shit considering how he had his face stuffed in a book while walking across campus. He should really do something to disperse the rumors before it reached the higher ups.

Whatever, it was about merit, not rumors. If they fell into that hole, that was on them. 

Catalina’s smile was wide and as bright as the moon above them as she grabbed Jim’s hands in her own. “Please do. Bring—bring anyone.” There were tears shining in her dark eyes and all Jim wanted to do was hug her, so he did, he leaned towards her and pressed his cheek against the side of her head. Her hands dropped his and wrapped around his back, clawing at his shirt with something that felt desperate and familiar, “I really missed you Jim, I really, really did, but I was so fucking scared to actually _ speak _ to you or see you and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t brave. I—I—It would mean _ everything _ if you watched me perform.”

Jim ran his hand through her smooth black hair. His nail caught on a strand of her hair. “I’ll be there,” he promised. 

** **

There had been a moment, during Catalina’s show, that Jim had felt as though his heart had been pierced. It had been beautiful, just as he had imagined, since she had walked up on stage, barefoot in a long black dress with a glittering cape along her shoulders, her face bare of any trace of makeup, her black hair smooth and shining like the night sky. The first song had only been her voice, nothing but her voice until a piano joined her. Another, she sang until tears ran down her cheeks and she rubbed bright red lipstick along her lips, some of it missing her lips and ending up near her chin. It was mesmerizing. Another song, she had lain on top of the piano, her voice near wretched and haunting, Jim had clasped Bones hand so hard the man had to pinch Jim after the song had ended to get him to let go.

The last song Catalina sang, with her hair disheveled, lips now deep red with lipstick that had ended up on one of her teeth, scratch marks from her own nails visible and pink along her cheeks, broke Jim’s heart. 

_ Hair so brittle it isn’t able to hold up _

_ When her hands ran through it _

_ It simply falls apart _

_ Like the seams of the doll she once loved _

** **

_ She could count her ribs _

_ Along and along _

_ 1… 2… 3… 4 _

_ Why can’t she sleep at night? _

** **

_ Children with smiles so long _

_ With teeth so little and brittle _

_ She can’t help but count as they fall onto her lap _

_ 5… 6… 7… 8 _

** **

_ Food becomes sand between her teeth _

_ Nothing but rubber and nothing but rubbish _

_ She wishes she could she wishes she could _

** **

_ Hair so brittle it isn’t able to hold up _

_ When her hands ran through it _

_ It simply falls apart _

_ Like the seams of the doll she once loved _

_ That she tore in a fit _

_ That she tore in a rage _

_ That she tore in despair _

** **

_ A hero who held her hands and promised _

_ That it would all be over _

_ And they would be among the stars _

_ In a count of _

_ 9… 10… 11… 12 _

** **

Tears fell down his cheeks as he watched her crumble onto the floor, arm raised up, hand slowly curling into a fist. Catalina had always known how to put on a show. 

Jim raised his hand and ran his hands through his hair for a few seconds, his nails stuck momentarily to his hair before he was able to rip it away and clap and clap and cry and clap along with the crowd of people who had really been lured into the music hall in their drunken stupor, along with two other survivors of Tarsus, his usually grumpy best friend who was attempting to pretend he did not have his own tears falling, and his mentor who looked stunned at the performance as a whole. 

Catalina straightened up and smiled tentatively at the crowd of people. Jim beamed at her and whooped, which quickly had Kevin and many groups of half-drunk people following along. She laughed with tears glistening in her eyes and blew a kiss towards the crowd.

** **

**dirt.**

There was dirt underneath his fingernails.

He wasn’t quite sure where the dirt was from. Vulcan? Delta Vega? It was simply there. 

The grime of the whole day seemed to be there underneath his nails. Jim pressed his hands over his face as he breathed in and out in and out in and out in and out again again and again. So much _ shit _ had happened in under twenty-four hours, Jim wasn’t quite sure how to go about now that he had a moment to _ breathe _ , no matter how brief it was. Soon, he would be back to moving about and moving and moving and being the fucking _ captain _ and helping out in engineering and keeping morale high even though they were all on edge due to the fact that the Enterprise was on her last legs. 

He was the captain of the Enterprise and he had dirt underneath his fingernails and he wasn’t anywhere close to being able to rest or shower. He had his duty. Jim breathed in, thought of Kevin who was back home waiting for him, of Catalina and Val’Rik who were in New York City for a show. Jim breathed in and out. 

There was dirt underneath his fingernails, but it didn’t matter. That wasn’t _ him _ any more. He could get past dirt, he could get past rubble, he could get past it, he knew he could, he could hold up. Jim breathed in, stood up, and began his trek towards engineering. As he walked down the hall, he spotted Spock, along with a few science officers and the familiar dark bowlcuts of the young Vulcan children they had been able to get aboard. 

“Commander Spock,” Jim nodded his head towards the Vulcan as he made his way past him. 

“Captain,” Spock gave a small nod back. A little Vulcan child, who couldn’t be no more than six, copied Spock’s movement and chirped out her very own “Captain Kirk!” that had most of the science officers hiding grins behind their mouths. 

Jim crouched down to be closer to her level. “Miss T’Mal. I’m quite glad I ran into you, I was wondering if you could report to me how the progress with navigation is going?” He watched as the small Vulcan girl straightened up, her hazel eyes nearly gleaming in her poorly concealed excitement. She had a speech impediment, but spoke as clearly as she could, detailing how she and the other children have been helping Mister Chekov and Commander Spock. Jim grinned and caught Spock’s eye as he began to stand back up. There was a quirk to his lips that betrayed the fact that he was _ amused. _ Jim rather liked that. “Great work Miss T’Mal.” 

** **

Jim had been on a total of two honest-to-god starships in his life—the USS Shenzhou and now the USS Enterprise. When he had walked off of the Shenzhou, it’d been wrapped in a blanket due to the fact that he was always so _ damned _ cold and his mother had been crying as she wrung her hands in front of her and tried to _ speak _, but she couldn’t because she didn’t know the words to say to the son she’d had trouble raising. It’d been so cold and lonely and—he had hated it. He had briefly wondered if the solemness he felt in his core was how his mother had felt when she arrived on earth with her infant son in her arms and her dead husband among the stars. 

Disembarking from the Enterprise had felt different. The energy had much more in common with the time he had watched the Shenzhou land while in the Academy. God—it’d felt so damned long ago that he had been in the Academy, but he was still _ technically _ a cadet, even if he had seen a world been destroyed and fought near death for his planet to not receive the same fate. When Jim—the last to be off the ship with Spock and Scotty by his side—glanced around, all he could see were a sea of faces, families and bystanders and Starfleet officers and media personnel. There were people shouting, people crying, people quietly watching as the few Vulcans walked along. Jim could see some of the crew members hugging family members over the barricade.

Jim felt so fucking _ small _in the midst of it all. Here he was—twenty-five years old, not yet graduated from Starfleet Academy, his hair and forehead a little greasy, dirt and grime in his fingernails, dark bags under his eyes, his throat and back a little sore from all the talking and all the work he had gotten into over the weeks of keeping the Enterprise in working order. He felt so insignificant in all of this. There was dirt underneath his fingernails. He breathed in, and began to walk. 

“JIMMY!” 

Kevin was physically holding Catalina back, the woman looking dangerously close to climbing over the barricade set up. She waved her arms back and forth and back and forth, grinning widely when she noticed him looking at her. Without a word to Scotty or his first officer, Jim broke into a run over to his family—Catalina who looked frantic and careless with her hair in a messy bun, Kevin who looked as tired as Jim and his crew, Val’Rik nervously tugging at the pastel highlights along the edge of his long hair as his eyes followed the Vulcans movements, and—_holy shit_—his mom and Sam. Jim wrapped his arms around whoever he could and kissed at their heads, laughing wildly. 

“God, am I glad to see you all!” His laugh was a little wet. He let his hand fall onto Kevin’s cheek. “Are you okay Kev? I’m sorry I left all of a sudden.” 

His little brother only nodded his head and pressed his cheek closer to Jim’s hand. “I’m so happy you’re okay Jim. I’m so happy.” He opened his mouth again, but didn’t say another word. Jim pressed a kiss to his temple. It wasn’t long before Jim had to leave, with promises to meet them elsewhere, like so many others of his crew were promising to their families. 

With dirt underneath his fingernails, with the weight of the world still balanced on his shoulders, with the eyes of this planet’s residents on his back, he walked forward. 

** **

**polish.**

His fingers ran over the edged figure of the pawn he’d taken from Spock. Jim watched as his friend and first officer stared intently at the board, his upturned eyebrows scrunching close together in thought. Jim rather enjoyed this time he spent with Spock, one-on-one time that had quickly became routine and _ comfortable _. Spock had on one of his Vulcan robes and Jim a black undershirt and a pair of soft sweats. 

“You’ve mentioned memorable matches you’d played. Who exactly had been able to keep up with you before me?” Jim asked as he watched Spock finally make a move. Huh. Interesting tactic. Jim immediately reached over and moved his own piece, a little at random simply because he could, watching in admiration as Spock’s eyebrows bunched together even closer.

Spock raised his hand, but quickly let it fall back on top of the table as he continued to study the board. “I would play with my mother often, though she would use the opportunity to be playful and would not take the activity as serious as I would have preferred. Most often, my opponent would be my sister.” 

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” Jim frowned—he remembered Spock mentioning he had an older half-brother who was a V’tosh ka’tur, born from a marriage his father had before he had met Amanda. He could not recall a sister ever being mentioned. “What’s her name?”

“Michael Burnham. My parents had fostered her after the death of her parents.” Spock finally made another move on the board that made Jim grin. 

Jim had most definitely heard about Michael Burnham—she had been the first officer on the USS Shenzhou and was now the captain of the USS Discovery. There had been rumors that Burnham was part Vulcan, but since Spock never said a word about it, Jim had assumed that it was all simple chatter to explain her rather logical mindset. Now Jim supposed she was, in a way, Vulcan, be it by mindset and culture, if not by blood. “So she was raised on Vulcan? Wow, incredible. Did she ever go for the bowlcut?” Jim leaned forward, elbows up on the desk, a grin on his face. 

Spock raised his eyebrow, but answered Jim’s question anyhow. “Michael did indeed have the traditional Vulcan hairstyle. In fact, Michael and I would wake up early every morning to straighten our hair together.” His cheeks and ears were flushed a slight green as he mentioned the last part. Jim enjoyed the slight embarrassment his friend was showing. Any emotion from Spock was intensely special. As they continued to speak, their game of chess was forgotten in lieu of sharing stories about their siblings. Jim found his friend’s stories rather _ fascinating _ . A household with a human mother, a Vulcan without logic, a half-Vulcan son, and an adopted human daughter. It sounded a bit like a sitcom. An _ illogical _ sitcom.

Jim _ loved _ listening to Spock speak. He spoke in clear, clipped sentences. He had a deep voice that had a hint of an accent whenever he spoke certain words. It was _ thrilling _. He was so entirely enthralled by his first officer, his best friend. 

The man he found himself falling deeper in love with each and every day. It was—new. 

Jim had never longed for a relationship before. Sure, he had dated from time to time, but none of the feelings he had for those relationships compared to how he felt for Spock. His chest felt warm and full of a buzzing exhilaration; he felt so completely calm and able to be _ himself _ . Jim had learned quickly how to read Spock’s minute facial expressions, and it seemed that Spock was able to accurately read Jim just as well as Jim could read Spock. He had never felt so _ known _ and _ bare _ , but it didn’t worry him. It was a _ relief _ in all honesty. He wondered if Spock felt the same. Jim hoped so. 

They found themselves talking about little things they would do with their siblings. Spock had learned how to braid hair when he was four from his brother Sybok who’d convinced him it would help in learning how to tie rope if he would ever be in a situation that needed the skill. Jim and Kevin had a ritual of watching twentieth and twenty-first century movies every friday when Jim was planetside. Michael would buy books and give them to Spock with her own annotations in the margins. Kevin enjoyed painting Jim’s nails. 

“I keep nail polish with me. Put it on my toes sometimes. Sometimes I do Chekov’s nails. He’s a good kid, reminds me of little Kevin in some ways.” Jim smiled as he glanced over towards the box on his desk where he kept his nail polish. 

“May I?” Spock sounded hesitant. “I am curious about nail polish. My mother often used it on herself.”

Jim stood up with a small smile. “Sure thing. Here—sit on the bed. Let me—” he opened up the box. On top was a fluffy brown stuffed animal that Kevin had given Jim before he’d been able to adopt him. Kevin had told him, years later, that it had been a gift from Val’Rik, one he’d made himself. Jim had no idea what it was and never found a moment to ask. Jim pulled it out and placed the toy on top of some papers on his desk. “What color would you like? I have blue, gold, pink, oh hey a light blue, some glittery black, red…” He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Spock made his way over to properly look at the color options. 

His pale hands reached for the stuffed animal. “This is a sehlat. I was not aware companies made Vulcan creatures into toys.” 

Jim laughed. “My friend Val’Rik made it. He makes toys and pillows and clothes. He’s talented. You remember Val’Rik right? The V’tosh ka’tur with the dyed hair?”

Spock nodded his head. “I remember him, he made quite the impression. He is quite gifted—perhaps the council should contact him to create replicas for the museum they have been in the process of establishing. Though, I am unsure how the council will react to learning of his status of following the teachings of Surak.” His lips twitched in that way of his that meant he would enjoy every second of watching the Vulcan High Council deal with a V’tosh ka’tur in their midst. Jim laughed and lightly pat his hand against his friends back. Together, they chose a color to paint Spock’s nails—the black with silver glitter inside that reminded Jim of the expanse of space they so often occupied. “My mother had a fondness for stars,” Spock explained as he settle, legs crossed, on Jim’s bed. 

His hands were large. Jim longed to kiss his knuckles, to play with the hairs that edged along the back of his hands. Jim swallowed hard. He felt like he could barely breathe as he carefully set the tip of the brush against Spock’s fingernail, smoothing out the nail polish. 

“I wish I’d known your mom.” Jim whispered. He wasn’t quite sure _ why _ he was whispering, but he had a sudden irrational fear that if he spoke too loud that everything would fall apart. This moment was too fragile, too open, too _ different _. Jim wanted to kiss along Spock’s strong jaw, rub his nose at his thick sideburns. 

“Kaiidth.” Spock whispered back. Jim could feel his hot breath near his cheek. They were suddenly so close. Jim pulled away slightly and smiled sadly. “However, I must say, I also find myself entertaining the idea of you meeting my mother. She was very—human and kind. Quite kind. She would have loved you very much, I am certain.”

Jim’s hands nearly shook as he asked, “And how are you so certain she would Mister Spock?” 

His answer was immediate. “Because _ I _ do.” His cheeks were flushed green, his eyes watching Jim’s fingers, so very close to his own. Jim breathed in. 

It took all his effort to finish painting Spock’s nails. Swipe, swipe, swipe, carefully, carefully, not to get a single drop along the flesh of his fingers. With the last nail painted, Jim placed the brush back into the glass bottle, sealed it tight. His fingertips carefully edged along Spock’s own. His friend breathed in, sharp and quick. His eyes watched as Jim carefully, slowly, softly, ran his fingertips along Spock’s sensitive fingers. Jim leaned forward, his fingers continuing to kiss Spock’s, and pressed his cheek against Spock’s. 

His tongue reached out and licked the outline of Spock’s pointed ear on an impulse he would have to worry about later but not right now, not when they were so close, and Jim was stupidly drunk on their proximity. “Is this okay Mister Spock? If you have any objections, please speak them. Though, I’d like if you didn’t, since I’ve been thinking of doing this for—” 

Suddenly, Spock’s lips were on his own, urgent and soft and everything Jim had wanted for _ so fucking long _. They kissed and kissed and kissed and Jim worried that maybe they were going to mess up the nail polish on he had put on Spock so he pulled away and instead held onto his friend's hand as he moved to examine his nails. 

“Still looks good. Hey—wanna paint mine?” 

A grin made way on his face as he glanced up and took in Spock’s disheveled appearance—Jim had never even seen him look anything other than perfect, even while on red alert. His cheeks were flushed a deep green, his dark eyes looked brighter than he had ever seen, his hair out of place. 

Jim leaned over and smoothed his hair, letting himself feel the softness of it that he had always been so sure that his hair would feel like. _ God, _ Jim’d never been so smitten before. Spock blinked for a few seconds before he stood up and returned with a bottle of blue nail polish in his hands.

As he pressed the brush against Jim’s nails, his hands shook slightly, causing the blue nail polish to end up on the side of Jim’s fingers and underneath the nail. Jim simply continued to smile at this man he loved so much, urging him to go on in a soft voice despite his shaking fingers. When Spock finished painting Jim’s nails as best he could, Jim brought his hands up and blew gently over each nail before pressing his hands to Spock’s once again. 

“I have cared for you for quite some time. I am not sure when it had began—though I suspect it may had began when I watched you interact with the Vulcan children aboard the ship after the destruction of—after the fatal encounter with Nero.” Spock began to rub his fingers along Jim’s palm, like a massage.

Jim could only laugh. “You saw me be niceto a kid? That’s how this started for you?” Though, honestly, Jim had no clue when this had begun for him. One day he had simply looked at his first officer and _ realized _ as he looked at the sharp angle of his nose and his thick eyebrows and those expressive black eyes and his _ hands _which, frankly, Jim was kind of obsessed with. “God, you’re a dork.”

Spock made a huffing sound, light and breathy. “You were kind to the Vulcan children, you understood their need for a distraction. And of how they have feelings as well, despite our cultures insistence of a lack thereof. In one day, you went from a cadet to a captain I held high respect for—for several reasons.”

And when had he become such a smooth talker? Jim let go of his hand and instead reached up and smoothed his thumbs over Spock’s eyebrows, one of which quirked up in question, but Jim merely ignored him in favor of pressing a kiss between his brows. Jim could see the bits of nail polish that had made its way under his nails, but paid it no mind, it was perfect, this was perfect. 

This life was—perfect.

Sure, it had been pretty screwed up in the beginning, but it was _ so much better. _ Jim used to have trouble thinking of the future when he was younger, but slowly, slowly, slowly, he had grown to be able to _ want _ a future, to see snippets of what he _ longed _ for. And, in the past few years, Spock had grown to be in any possible future he could hope for. And to have _ this _ , which he had feared for so long he would never properly have — be it with Spock himself or any person at all—was _ heartstopping breathtaking unreal beautiful wonderful all he could need. _

So, with nail polish underneath his fingernails and a wide possibility of the future lingering ahead, Jim held Spock between his hands and kissed him gently, in his bed in his quarters on the Enterprise, which drifted between the stars, slow and steady.

**Author's Note:**

> Jim's age throughout:  
dirt- 13  
chocolate- 14  
blood- 15  
grass- 16  
skin- 18/19  
blood- 22  
lint- 23  
hair- 24  
dirt- 25  
polish- 27
> 
> This had been such an adventure to write so I hope you all enjoyed! Please tell me what you think, leave a kudos, check out my one other star trek fic (it's Michael/Tilly and it's cute). Thanks so much for making it this far <3


End file.
